Hiding Out

Doug and I have been opting out of Christmas, opting out of most commercial celebrations, for about as long as we have known each other. In earlier years, we would be skiing. Sometimes, just a day trip in the local backcountry, other years, we would ski into a small mountain cabin for a couple of days. There has been so many opt out trips over the years that I can't remember them all individually, but I recall that all of them were better than sitting around all day eating junk food and trying to pretend you liked whatever gift you were unlucky enough to receive.

Of course, we opted out this year. I had picked two possible trips, both self-propelled - in the true spirit of opting out - and both using sea kayaks. Of the two, our top choice was to a little known or visited beach camp on the far south coast of NSW. There are few of these places in Australia, a country with a peculiar (at least it seems so to me) penchant for pushing roads into every corner of the country. This particular beach is a mere 2 to 3 kilometres from the nearest road but it might as well be 2,000 or 3,000 kilometres. That short stretch - there are tracks - is enough to prevent most people from visiting. I often wonder, in my more cynical moments, what would happen to human kind if we had to move ourselves, no motors of any kind, a few kilometres to stay alive. How many, particularly from the developed world, would make it?

We had our friend Mike, also a veteran of opting out, with us, and packed our boats on a beach busy with Christmas visitors. As we paddled east and around the first point, we had to watch carefully to avoid getting run over by an inattentive boat operator driving his large cabin cruiser back and forth a few metres off the rocks - and surf zone - so his passengers could fish. "Here's a guy burning $400 in fuel to catch a 7 cm fish" I called to Doug. Luckily, that was the end of our boat encounters for the next two days.

There was a pretty low period swell and not much wind, so, although we had to paddle, and couldn't sail, we were able to potter comfortably along the rocky coastline. I have paddled this stretch of coast a couple of times before but always with a mission and not just idling along.

After an hour or two, we decided to have lunch and landed on one of the semi-sheltered beaches along this stretch of coast. It is a pretty quiet beach as it is not well known to non-locals, but there were a few people about. It was good to do a surf launch and landing before we reached our destination which has a reputation for nasty surf among local kayakers.

Another hour or so, and we had reached our beach. A strong rip was running out right beside a rocky reef and these two things together provided an easy landing onto the small beach tucked between two headlands.

We unpacked our kayaks and carried our gear up onto a grassy bench with banksia trees for shade and, after some post-paddling refreshments, we all went wandering. I took an old track, almost gone but possible to follow if careful, up a hidden valley past a series of waterholes. The bird and animal life was prolific and it was quite a magical place.

When I got back it was time for dinner, which was a necessarily simple affair, but we did have some nice cheeses and Mike had brought home-made biscotti. After dinner, I wandered along the beach in the dusky and moist evening air until the sun had set and I could no longer see my feet. We sat up a bit longer enjoying the evening but, as is almost inevitable, dusk brought biting insects and an incredibly heavy dew.

We had a beautiful sunrise with shards of sunshine spiking through the clouds onto the ocean and, as we were in no hurry, we went for a walk again, this time following a faint track south to a different beach. Launching was a bit more challenging than landing as the swell had come up overnight and the rip was much reduced in strength. Doug and I got off easy as we both got a push out, but Mike had to shuffle himself down and ended up paddling out through a streak of breaking waves.

The best place to land was where we had lunch on the way down, so we stopped there again. I am always torn between the two types of training - one is practicing staying in the boat for a long time (harder than you might imagine as it gets very cramped in a sea kayak) and the other is practicing surf landings and launches. This time, hunger won out and I opted for the surf practice. This time, we pushed Mike out as we owed him.

The last stretch back to the beach we launched from the boat felt slow and heavy and I was hot. The promised south wind had not eventuated, and this section of coast always seems to have a fair southerly current. I had to remind myself that endurance sports are called endurance sports for a reason. Sometimes you just have to endure.

The Best Adventures Start From Your Own Front Door

The full video is here.  An episode of My Kitchen Rules filmed on location is here, and finally, if you have the attention span of a gnat, 30 seconds of down-wind sailing is here.  

Getting Paced In The Pace

I am in my new boat and, unlike the green slime, it is breakable. This makes me feel fragile and breakable. Doug and Rae help me launch. Rae keeps the bow pointed into the waves - which are as big as I have ever seen them at Sunshine Bay - and Doug pushes off the stern. I usually launch myself. Paddling a sea kayak on the open ocean, you have to be self-sufficient. But, I am out, and quickly paddling beyond the peaking swells to join John. One by one, the rest of the group launches. We are eight and heading north. Realistically, we can only head north as the north wind is already blowing and is forecast to peak at 20 to 25 knots.

We paddle across the bay to Archeron Ledge. I am faster than before, but not miraculously fast. My stroke is still awkward, Rae thinks my paddle is too long. I think I agree with her. From Archeron, we paddle out around Three Islet Point in big swells. The kind of swells that tower over your head. The swell is often bigger at Three Islet Point than at North Head, although I tend think of North Head as the entrance to the bay.

There is a steady but as yet relatively modest north wind blowing. The sea, however, is confused, a large easterly swell overlaid with a northerly sea. It feels chaotic at times. We paddle north for a distance. I am getting more comfortable in my new boat but I am still unsure of how far I can lean it, and how it reacts in breaking waves. The group is widely spread, and waiting for the others in such a messy sea is a harbinger for sea sickness.

Rae leading the way

At some point, we turn around. and I get out in front of the group. I am never in front of the group and it somehow feels a lonely place. I find it twist around in my new boat to see where every one is without the boat feeling a bit shaky. Soon Rae, who has the capacity to sprint between widely spaced kayaks with ease comes along side and directs me into the shelter of Three Islet Point to wait for the others. "Doug is rafted up with Neil" she says, "but it is nothing to worry about."

Once inside Three Islet Point, I do worry a little. I never let Doug out of my sight and I cannot see him at all. Later I find out that Neil had capsized while surfing a wave and Doug was helping him back into his boat. Once everyone is back inside the bay, we head into Judges Beach for lunch.

Rescues at sea are pretty common

I am keen to do more paddling. It is my first time out in my new boat and I want to see how it handles in varying conditions. Today I will get more than I bargained for. We head further into the bay. Those with sails are whipping along in the 15 to 20 knot wind, and I am pleasantly surprised to find that even without a sail I am not that far behind.

Doug at Square Head on a calmer day

Mike, Neil and John peel off towards Sunshine Bay, while the rest of us paddle west into the bay. At Square Head, Doug and Tony paddle through the long gutter gauntlet. I love this gauntlet. It is long and narrow with a couple of choke spots in between. In bigger swells, like today, the choke spots suck dry and you have to watch you don't hit big rocks. I am not going in today, however, in my new boat. I do hope I am not always so precious about the new boat.

The indestructible green slime on 

a different day at Square Head

From Square Head, we paddle south across to the breakwater and catch a couple of green waves. The break here shifts with the tide, and right now it is much further in the bay. The wind is really whipping now, and it feels like time to head back to Sunshine Bay.

Sitting out back watching waves break

is always confronting, these were quite manageable

I find the next six kilometres a huge and wearying battle. The NE wind is blowing 20 to 25 knots, and it feels like a headwind as we plug along past Observation Point heading for Sunshine Bay. The wind is blowing directly onto all the rocky headlands and islets that are usually so interesting along this section of coast. I am paranoid I will get blown onto them and shatter my new boat. I can literally see pieces of orange and red composite floating on the sea.

The new Pace before the first run,

PC, K. Darby

Accordingly, I take a really long route around the headlands which means I not only paddle further but more directly into the wind than everyone else. The rest of the group is closer in, and having an easier time of it. They all wonder what the heck I am doing. I wonder a bit myself. My bow is a little light and the boat is continually turning with the wind.

At Sunshine Bay, the view towards the beach is confronting. Big waves rise up and peak. All we can see is the backs of white curling waves. The beach is invisible behind the big rollers. There are a lot of rock reefs in Sunshine Bay, and again, visions of orange and red fibreglass with perhaps a seat attached floating as debris on the ocean unrolls through my head.

We should have landed. Rae has talked to Neil on the beach and once in a bit, the landing is fine. Everyone with the exception of me wants to land, but I freak out and insist we paddle back to Corrigans Beach. This is my mistake and I need to own it. The boat would not have broken, nor would I. I could make all kinds of legitimate sounding excuses about not being used to my new boat, the 25 knot wind blowing us around, but in the end it all came down to irrational fear.

It feels like as much a battle back to Corrigans Beach as before. I am pointing to directly into the wind again, fighting to keep the nose upwind, worried about being smashed on the rocks; in general, an over-anxious wreck. Of course, my paddle stroke has long ago fallen apart and I am still taking too wide a tack around the headlands making everything harder for myself.

Another day, another capsize, not sure

how I managed to capsize in this easy spot

Finally, we paddle around Observation Point into the shelter of Corrigans Beach. I had eventually given in to Doug's exhortations to steer off from the wind and had suddenly found the paddling much easier. One by one we roll into the beach. Karen tips out of her boat at the last minute and her rudder falls off her boat (note the foreshadowing here). I am glad to be ashore, wondering why I am drawn to sports that are hard for me. Could I not, at 55, hang up the rock shoes and rack, turn to bushwalking instead of climbing, paddle gently on inland lakes and sheltered bays, ride my bike on paved cycle tracks instead of crashing repeatedly on the single track? Why do I have to keep beating my thick head against a wall of intimidating sports?

Night falls..... It is day two in my new boat. Karen and I are getting forward stroke instruction from Rae. Rae has the most effortless, efficient and elegant paddle stroke of anyone I know. No matter the conditions, cruising downwind, towing two sick paddlers in the huge swells off Wilsons Promontory or battling into a headwind, she seems to move without struggle through any conditions.

We launch from Corrigans Beach today, a bit worried about a repeat of yesterday as the wind is supposed to be even stronger than yesterday. Ironically, the wind and swell are about half what they were the day before. From Corrigans Beach we work on our forward stroke over to Cullendulla Bay. This is a nice sheltered spot to practice drills in clear, relatively warm water.

I flub my first roll. My second and third are shaky. The fourth is another flub, and after two tries I bail out and rescue with Rae's help. I am definitely better practicing on my own where I can take my time.

It is time to head over to the bar for some surfing. There is a big sandbar in Batemans Bay which breaks fairly frequently. In big southerly swells, it can feel too big, other times, it is too small, or at least it was for the green slime. Karen is nicely catching the fronts of waves and riding in on the green face. Rae soon disappears riding in wave after wave.

Heading out the bar

As usual, I pick what is probably the worst spot. My first ride is not too bad, but I broach quickly. I am using the rudder. I never use the rudder in the green slime but I am trying the rudder for a couple of rides in my new boat as, apparently, that is what Pace owners do. My second and third waves are quite wild. I broach immediately and am side surfed, then spun completely around and back surfed, back to forward facing, then side surfing, all on one wave. Somehow I keep myself upright, and then decide to head out into the channel to catch my breath.

But I am in the midst of all the breaking waves and the bow keeps kicking around no matter what I do with the rudder. It is good practice for surf exits though so I keep paddling through each wave as it rises up. I'm glad I am wearing a wetsuit, and the helmet does not hurt either. When I limp out into the channel, I turn around and see my rudder hanging off the back of my boat at a sick angle. Rae comes over and is somewhat agog as well. A day and a half into a new boat and the rudder falls off!

Side surfing the new kayak

Luckily I am near the Marina so I paddle in and try to effect a repair. Had I realised the seat adjustment allen key, which is still attached inside my cockpit, would have screwed in the two loose screws, I could have got right back out there. But, with fingers only, I can't get the screws in to even begin to tighten them. I wiggle the rudder back into place, but retracted and paddle out to tell Rae and Karen I will meet them back at Corrigans Beach.

I'm not sure what my paddle is doing,

nothing useful

The wind is only around 10 to 12 knots, but it is enough to keep turning the bow into the wind for the two kilometre journey back. I give up on paddling and row back with my paddle extended and using a classic oar stroke solely on one side of the kayak. The next day I have seized up muscles on just that side of my body. Paddling a Pace without a rudder would really suck.

Down, Up, Down, Up: Perrys Lookdown to Lycon Plateau Return

There are a handful of tracks into the Blue Gum forest in the Grose Valley. Two that I had yet to walk were via Perrys Lookdown and the Lycon Plateau so it made sense to combine them into one trip. Down Perrys track to the Blue Gum forest then straight out the opposite side via Du Faur Buttress. The 1200 metres of elevation gain and loss would also make it a good training day.

According to the sign at Perrys Lookdown, Perrys track is the steepest route into the Grose Valley and it sure is steep. About 2.5 km of continuous steps, almost, but not quite relentlessly steep. It took me one hour to walk down to the four way track junction in the Grose Valley and my legs felt a bit wobbly after all the steps.

The trick to finding Lockley track on the opposite side of Govetts Creek is to walk straight towards the creek from the four way junction (the only unsigned alternative) and when you reach the creek, walk downstream a short distance until the perfect log for a river crossing spans the creek. Stroll across.

There is no flat ground on this walk, and once across Govetts Creek the track immediately begins climbing up Du Faur spur to the Lycon Plateau. This side of the valley is not as steep as the Perrys Lookdown side, but it is still a solid grind uphill. Once you get to Du Faur Head, the track winds cleverly up on rock steps through a break in the cliff line up to Lycon Plateau. As you head south, gradually gaining elevation on the plateau, there is one awkward step to climb up.

I, mistakenly it turns out, stopped a bit short of Lockleys Pylon on the cliff edge for a break before returning the way I had come. Not being in great steep hiking shape, I was not sure how long the walk back out via Perrys track would take and I did not want to run out of energy part way up. In the end, I managed the 600 metre climb out of the valley in under 1.5 hours so I had some time to spare to go slower if needed.

On the way back, I wandered down to Acacia Flats where camping is allowed but fires are NOT. Unfortunately, people being what they are, the camping area was covered with the remnants of old fires. As sure as the sun comes up in the morning, the beautiful Blue Gum forest will be burnt down as people refuse to give up the short term but immediate (and questionable) gratification provided by a campfire for the long term gain of preserving a now unique environment.

Of Glens and Cliffs

Walking down Braeside walk to the Barrow Lookout I immediately felt good. There is something about walking through woods that is just good for our psyche. A small stream runs through the valley and after recent rains it was gurgling gently while the bush was alive with spring flowers on the native flora. At Barrow Lookout, I turned north and followed the busy Cliff Top track to Govetts Leap. The area around the car park was busy as usual, but a few minutes along the track in any direction and I was alone again.

My map marks a track called the Jungle Track branching off Williams Track that descends Govetts Leap Brook and I wanted to see if I could find it before continuing on to Pulpit Rock. I walked a fair way down the steep and wet Govetts Leap track until I passed the location where my map and GPS indicated the Jungle track was without finding it. Looking back at this section of cliff later from closer to Pulpit Rock, it is obvious that the Jungle track must leave the maintained Govetts Leap track down near the base of Govetts Leap Falls and not a hundred metres up the valley as shown on the topographic map.

After not finding Jungle track, I walked back up and strolled along to Pulpit Rock. This is an easy but lovely walk following the cliffs around the valley passing over the top of Horseshoe Falls and ending at the spectacular Pulpit Rock lookout. A light misty rain was falling over the Grose Valley which is one of the real treasures of the Blue Mountains.

On the way back, I exited via Popes Glen Track another pretty track that winds up a quiet valley eventually arriving at Blackheath.

Bikes and Bush in the Budawangs

Could it be over a year since we last walked into the Budawangs - land of cliffs and pagodas, hidden creeks and caves, and, of course, Budawang brush? Our last visit was in summer, it was hot and the bush was full of flies. This time, we went in via Nerriga in winter and with mountain bikes, it was a totally different experience.

Nothing really spurred this visit except a weekend of blue skies, sunshine and cool temperatures. We drove in via the Meangora Road out of Nerriga. The access to the National Park is reasonably well signed past private property and after crossing the Endrick River you should find yourself on the Red Ground Track. This is an old road pleasantly reverting to nature and perfect for a mountain bike.

In places you ride through open heath with the magnificent cliffs of the Budawangs around you, in other spots, the track passes through gorgeous eucalypt forest. About 10 km from the parking area, the road dips down and crosses Endrick Creek again before the track travels generally south under a canopy of eucalypts to some campsites and open grassy areas near Piercy Clearing. After riding up another small hill we came to the junction with the track that runs down to Styles Creek and Hidden Valley.

We stashed our bikes in the bush a short distance up this track and then continued on foot as the trail climbed a small hill. At the apex of this hill, a cairn marks the start of the track to Quiltys Mountain. The track up Quiltys Mountain is a typical Budawang pad pushing through scrubby bush but soon coming out near the top of the mountain on sandstone slabs. Some wandering around brought us to the Bora Stones near the summit. There are Bora Stones and views, and, of course, a great place for lunch. The ride back out was as enjoyable as the ride in, except we also got some nice downhill sections.

Next day, we rode back into the second Endrick River crossing except this time we headed west instead of south on another fire road. There are nice views along this section as the fire road dips into and out of small creeks on sandstone slabs. There is another bigger creek crossing at Sallee Creek where the Endrick River has big pools. About a kilometre further on, the fire road junctions with Round Mountain fire trail and we turned south and rode along this until we arrived at a small drainage which runs out of the north end of Round Mountain.

We could not find any track but the bush was not too bad on the spur ridge to the north of the drainage except when we arrived on the western cliff line of Round Mountain. We had lunch here before turning back, however, we should have kept going to the top of Round Mountain as there are better views from the top and also some more Bora Stones. Riding back out we had lovely views of the cliffs of Quiltys Mountain.

Free Floating Anxiety: Narrawallee Inlet to Green Island and Ulladulla Harbour

Perhaps it started with the roadside breath test just south of Ulladulla at 9.00 am in the morning, more likely it was arriving at Narrawallee Inlet at 9.30 am, right on the agreed time to find the rest of the crew had kayaks packed and were ready to leave. Maybe it was the thought of a day book-ended by surf exits and entries. Whatever it was, I had a fair degree of free floating anxiety before I'd even slipped into my kayak.

Our plan was to paddle out through the - hopefully - small surf break beside the rocks at Narrawallee - plug north into a gentle headwind to Bendalong for lunch, and then cruise back with a stronger tail-wind. But, the best made plans and all that.

I've surfed my sea kayak at Narrawallee once before on an incoming tide with a one metre clean swell. Even then I had one particularly spectacular crash and subsequent dragged out swim into the beach that Alison remembered distinctly due to my rodeo like double pivot turn followed by rapid capsize on the biggest steepest wave of a short set.

Today the tide was running strongly in, and a brisk 15 knot northeasterly wind was blowing onshore. I felt like I went from a standstill to flat out paddling just to get through the bar. Timing is everything, and mine was simply good luck as the group was all waiting out beyond the waves and I felt pressured just to paddle out without waiting for a set of smaller waves.

Green Island is just under 5 km from Narrawallee, but with sea spray in the air and a headwind, it looked further. Rae and Alison immediately began paddling laps around Doug, Mike and I, as they are both training for the Hawkesbury Classic. My free floating anxiety increased. I was, as usual, well at the back of the group, grinding into a headwind that felt like a giant hand on my chest pushing me backwards. I tried to practice all the things Rae taught me about an efficient forward stroke - tap, not grind, keep the cadence up - always a struggle for me - drive from the hips, etc., etc., but nothing felt quite right, and I certainly wasn't going to break any speed records.

As Alison cycled by on her fourth or fifth lap past me, she confirmed that we would land on the beach on the south side of Green Island for some respite from the wind. Tap, tap, tap, I said to myself as I plugged on.

The surfers were catching some reasonably big waves off the reef at Green Island, but it was easy enough to land on the south facing beach, even though there was a bit of water that felt kind of squirrelly, or perhaps it was using an unfamiliar wing paddle to brace and rudder. It was nice to have some shelter from the wind, as when we looked north of Green Island, the sea was awash with white caps.

I was still reasonably keen to continue on to Bendalong. I like to practice paddling into the wind when I don't actually have to so that I know I can do it when I have no choice. But, as Rae said "that is a good idea while we are on the beach." Instead, we decided to paddle across the little reef between Green Island and the mainland, circle around Green Island and head back to Narrawallee. My free floating anxiety found something else to fix on. Would I capsize and get blown back into the surf?

I went first, which seemed a reasonable idea given my anxiety, and cruised through with no drama; luck again, as the waves were quite small when I went through. Doug followed closely behind me, then Mike, who got carried close too the rocks and buffeted around by waves breaking both in front and behind him - "Who thought that was a good idea" he said - and then came Alison, almost, as she rocketed up into the air on two colliding waves, and ended up out of her boat.

It was a bit challenging to maintain our position with the wind blowing us back on-shore and I dithered about whether I should paddle back over to assist, but Rae seemed to have everything under control and after a while, we could see Alison back in her boat, and Rae paddling through. Alison met us on the south side of Green Island. Apparently, paddling through the gap no longer seemed like a good idea to her.

With gusts up to 20 knots now, I found my big sail too much to handle given my degree of anxiety so I dropped down to my two thirds sail. Doug, however, was lounging comfortably in his boat with his full one metre sail, not even paddling. It was a fairly swift trip down to Narrawallee Inlet where the swell was looking messy but mostly due to the sea on top of the one metre swell.

I was anxious, of course, but figured I could make it in alive, if not dry, so was working my way in towards the beach when Rae called me back. It turns out the group was split, Mike and Alison wanted to paddle down to Ulladulla Harbour and a surf free landing, while Rae, of course, wanted to surf in, and Doug agreed. We decided to tentatively split into two groups, with Doug, Rae and I paddling in, and the other two continuing to Ulladulla Harbour, unless we three made it look super easy.

It was one of those awkward times sea kayaking where the wind is very quickly blowing you where you do not want to go, and the surf looks bigger and wilder due to a piled up local sea. Rae started in, but somewhere in the surf zone we saw the bottom of her kayak. Again, I dithered about going in to help but doing any type of rescue in the surf zone is problematic, perhaps even chaotic. Instead, we battled the wind out back until we saw Rae emerge onto the beach. That was enough to localise my anxiety and we decided to paddle down to Ulladulla Harbour. We gave Rae our predetermined signal and set off again.

It is a further 8 kilometres south to Ulladulla Harbour and I was not at all confident I would not be blown onto the rocks at Bannister Point so I stayed well out. Alison and Mike were near me, Alison at least was feeling the same, although she is a much stronger paddler than I, while Doug cruised along relatively close in shore.

Once past Bannister Head, our direction of travel seemed more favourable for sailing so the sails went up, although I found I had to brace on occasion or risk a capsize. Perhaps it was just my free floating anxiety that seemed to facilitate an entire storyline of things that could go wrong continuously unraveling through my thoughts. Ulladulla Head marks the northern entrance to the harbour and I recognised it from a previous trip. It was nice to paddle into the harbour, although it was not until we were right inside the breakwater that the wind and sea abated. As Mike, aka "local knowledge" said, "it was a good day, nobody died."

The Wave

The 10 knot east wind feels chilly as I start my paddle south from Sunshine Bay. I stay in close to the rocks. The swell does not seem that big, just a metre or so, but to the south, I can see some surprisingly large spumes of water washing off the coastal reefs. It's always like this sea kayaking, trying to paddle as close to the shore as you can without getting caught by a bigger wave.

Stories of kayakers mashed in rogue waves are multitudinous. We've all had narrow escapes and many have not managed to elude the big wave, breaking boats and bodies on rocks, reefs and beaches. No matter how many times I am almost caught, I always find myself gradually drifting in closer and closer to rocks and reefs pulled by an invisible elastic that stretches only so far before settling back edging closer and closer to the rocks.

Today I am alone, so I should be more cautious. After all, I am just out for a training paddle, to improve my forward stroke and get a bit fitter for the upcoming summer paddling season. I have decided to avoid going into all the little gauntlets and gutters as I paddle south and just stay a reasonable distance off the rocks, working on my forward stroke. But shortly after leaving, a gutter running behind a rocky reef lures me in.

I have not seen any bigger waves for a while and I wrongly judge the easterly reef will shelter the gutter from a southeasterly swell. I paddle in, nose first, and the first inkling of danger is immediate when a big rock suddenly appears beneath the bow of the kayak. A larger wave has sucked a rock reef dry and I glance behind me to see a bigger wave curling over, soon to break. If I get pushed forward I will smash onto the rocks at the head of the gutter. Back paddle hard, brace, and roll over the crest of the breaking wave, the kayak wobbles on the lip then falls into the trough. I want to get out of here, but another wave is coming in, the reef sucks dry again, back paddle, brace, this one is smaller and behind it, the next wave is smaller again.

Rapidly I sweep the boat around wishing I had edged in stern first or at the very least retracted the rudder to make turning faster. Out beyond the gutter I shake with adrenaline. Now the big washes smashing onto the reefs to the south make sense. I won't get in that close again, at least not today.

Ski Touring The Main Range

Almost a month to the day and we are back for some more ski touring in the NSW Alps, this time we are heading for the main range. I am not sure exactly what constitutes the "main range" but it seems to be centred roughly around Mount Kosciuszko and extends at least as far north as Mount Tate and south to the alpine area above Thredbo. Almost all of Australia's peaks over 2,000 metres lie within this small area, although calling the numerous rounded bumps on ridge lines "peaks" is perhaps somewhat lofty.

Apparently, it is becoming a bit of a thing to hike up all 26 to 33 (interpretations vary) of these high points. Tick lists such as these are always objectively arbitrary but subjectively meaningful. I've had numerous weird tick lists over the years, none of which I ever completely finished but which were fun, in a strange way, when I was obsessing over them.

Day 1: Guthega to Carruthers Ridge

Anyway, back to ski touring. This time we started from Guthega, about 5 km southwest of Guthega Power Station (GPS). The road deteriorates quickly past GPS. It is two wheel drive, but windy, pot-holed and dusty. Guthega is a bit of a weird place. There are a few lodges and a chair lift that runs for 1.5 hours in the morning, presumably to take downhill skiers over to the south side of the mountain. Many of the north facing runs are completely melted out and there is hardly anyone about when we arrive, just a couple of other ski tourers heading out. In the month since we were last skiing, the wind blown bare patches have greatly expanded and the height of snow has shrunk by about 25 cm or almost a quarter.

We start skiing around 11.15 am, and head south roughly following the Illawong track. Between the parking lot and the suspension bridge over the Snowy River we have to take our skis off once and a few times we ski across bare vegetation. Ski travel along this track will not last much longer. There is a big warm bare spot around the lodge so we stop for lunch where we can take our boots off and enjoy the sunshine.

Once across the suspension bridge it is easy skiing along the western bank of the Snowy River to Carruthers Creek. We are after a bit of shelter for camp against the incessant westerly winds as we will leave the tent for two nights while we day trip around the area, so as we skin up beside Carruthers Creek we are looking for a sheltered campsite.

Doug finds a great campsite behind some stunted snow gums and a big boulder at around 1800 metres. There is even a snow melt trickle above camp which obviates the need to melt snow for water. Although we don't have evening sun the site does get early morning sun and the setting sun paints delicate shades of pink and red around the surrounding hills.

It is a bit weird to be camped where we can see the lights of the groomers plying the ski slopes. This is definitely not deep Canadian wilderness, but it is always nice to be camped out and skiing is a bonus.

Day 2: Mounts Clark, Northcote, Townsend, and Lee, Muellers, Abbot and Carruthers Peaks

The sun lights the tent early and it is a delightfully warm morning cooking breakfast and packing for the day out. We begin by skinning up to the ridge above camp and then contour across the broad basin that drains into Club Lake Creek. We dodge dry patches of ground and skin up to our first "peak" of the day, Mount Clark, which is a round flat bump. A short descent, we don't bother to take skins off as the snow is still frozen and we are soon on top of "peak" number two, Mount Northcote.

We don't really have a firm plan for the day but we have been up Mount Kosciuszko before, and, although it is the highest peak in NSW, it is actually one of the least inspiring, with a very long gentle north ridge and a lot of bare ground showing on all aspects. Instead, we skin up Muellers Peak, a short section on the east face actually requires kicking a few steps as our skins are sliding off the icy slope.

Skins off for the descent off Muellers Peak and we are able to coast across the broad basin below to Abbot Peak. On the map, Abbot Peak has two closed contours and we are unsure which is actually higher so we ski up both, tackling the western one first, then the eastern one as this gives us a better run down to the base of Mount Townsend. Mount Townsend is probably the most impressive looking peak, but it too is an easy skin up the southwest side. From the top we can see a couple of skiers on Mount Northcote and this turns out to be two sea kayaking friends of ours who are doing day trips from Charlotte Pass. We exchange a couple of text messages as they head off to Mount Kosciuszko and we have a surprisingly good corn snow descent down to Albina Lake.

From Albina Lake we skin up to Mount Lee and along the ridge to Carruthers Peak where we meet two other skiers, also day tripping from Charlotte Pass. There are a couple of other named peaks in the area we could tag - Alice Rawson and Mount Sentinel - but it would be good to have a couple of new peaks we can come back to another year so instead we ski down to camp on the ridge. Another party has camped about 60 metres below us on the ridge and they ski past just as we arrive at camp.

Day 3: Little Twynam, Mounts Twynam, Anton, Anderson, Tate and Mann Bluff, return to Guthega

Another warm morning but the west wind blows all day and it takes until 11.00 am for the snow to soften. We pack up camp and contour around to Crummer Spur. We follow Crummer Spur all the way to Little Twynam where we have to remove our skis to touch the top as the snow is all melted. It is very windy and our skis act as sails in our hands. It is windy all the way to the top of Mount Twynam, but from there the wind is behind us and not near as annoying.

Unfortunately the descent of Mount Twynam is solidly frozen and it is a chattering descent down to the base of Mount Anton where patchy snow on the west side means it is easy to walk to the top that try and ski. From Mount Anton we continue north and ski up to the top of Mount Anderson where we meet a young bloke out for a day trip from Guthega.

The east ridge of Mount Tate is almost all completely bare of snow but by weaving around a bit we are able to ski all the way to near Mann Bluff. We leave our packs and skis for the short hike up to the top of Mann Bluff and then ski over to the base of Mount Tate. We leave our packs at 2,000 metres on the ridge and skin up Mount Tate, the rocky top is blown clear so we walk the last bit.

Back at our packs, all the plodding has released pent up demand for some downhill skiing and as the snow has nicely softened we make turns down the east facing slope of Mount Tate gradually also traversing to the south as we go. Travel in the Guthega River valley looks tedious. The creek has melted out and there is not enough gradient to slide downhill so we continue traversing until we are roughly above the footbridge over the Guthega River where we get some more turns. There are quite a few old ski tracks, this is obviously a popular descent, and we follow the tracks, turning and traversing until we ski right out to the foot bridge.

On the east side of the Guthega River the snow has melted off so we have to walk until we reach the dam road where we can ski again until skis come off to cross the melted out dam wall, then skins and skis back on for the final 1 km ski up to the parking lot.

It was a grand three day trip involving ski ascents of 13 little peaks and two very fine corn snow runs. Another month, however, and there will be much more bare ground than snow, so that is probably it for our skiing this year.